


A Great Night

by DoctorBilly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Betting, Pink balloons, letswritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade wants to give John a great stag night, but, when things don't turn out quite as he expects, he improvises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Great Night

"Can you speak a bit quieter?"

" **NOT REALLY** "

Lestrade was pissed off. He'd worked hard to organise the perfect stag night for John Watson, loosely _(very loosely)_ based on a couple of his more memorable blog posts, only for Watson to allow Sherlock to hijack it with his stupid measuring cylinders.

To be fair, Watson had done his best to sabotage Sherlock by sneaking un-calculated-for shots into the proceedings, but the extra alcohol content of the drinks had rapidly sent the consulting detective into a spiral of drunken shenanigans that had culminated in him being locked in a cell along with his also more than slightly the worse for wear blogger.

Lestrade had let them out after a couple of hours, still drunk, and had been irritated when John didn't even offer an apology for starting the night without most of his friends.

Sherlock didn't know any better, of course, but John knew how these things were supposed to work, and if Watson couldn't do Lestrade the courtesy of inviting him along for the early part of the stag night, then Lestrade would repay him by not inviting him along for the late part.

He put him in a taxi and sent him home.

 

 

 

"Where's John?"

Sherlock looked around comically, as if expecting to find Watson hiding under the washroom basin, or in a cubicle.

"He had to go. Let's get you sobered up a bit."

Sherlock had already started the sobering up process by throwing up most of the alcohol he'd consumed, but was still tipsy enough to be compliant when Lestrade shoved his head under the cold tap, shocking him awake.

"Come on, sunshine. Let's get you something to eat, then we can start round two."

 

Round two was _pink_. A commemoration of the first case Watson had worked on. The bar they were in was pink, everyone wore something pink.

Lestrade had a subtle pink stripe in his shirt fabric, as befitted the senior officer in the group. Mike Stamford wore a pink fedora. Anderson had a pink tie. Lestrade noted with a blink and a gulp that Dimmock had gone all out to impress when he arrived wearing pink jeans.

Sherlock didn't have anything pink, so Lestrade grabbed a carnation from the vase on their table and tucked it behind the consulting detective's ear.

Photos were duly taken.

They started by drinking cosmopolitans, with cranberry juice for Sherlock, who was already drunk, and for Anderson who had drawn the short straw and was in charge of making sure they all got home safe.

Lestrade fielded " _Where's John?"_ with a vague _"Dunno, he'll be along later, I expect"_ kind of shrug.

They came to the speedy conclusion that cosmos weren't really their type of drink, and switched to raspberry beer, which wasn't pink, but sounded as if it ought to be.

Dimmock managed to leave with a pink helium balloon tied to his wrist, which made getting in Anderson's people-carrier interesting.

Anderson tried to call Watson between rounds two and three, but didn't get an answer.

Watson's phone was on silent in Lestrade's pocket.

 

 

Round three involved a trip to Wimbledon.

By the time they got there, Sherlock was steadier on his feet, and Lestrade decided to allow the great consulting detective to drink again.

They would need him to analyse the strengths and weaknesses of the greyhounds before they placed their bets, but a slightly tipsy Sherlock was funnier than a sober one, and this wasn't a serious betting night anyway.

They stood on the terraces, drank beer, ate greasy chips and placed their bets with the tic-tac men.

Dimmock came away in pocket after putting a reverse forecast double on 'Baskerville' and 'Pink Lady'.

More photographs were duly taken.

By this time everyone had forgotten about Watson, except Lestrade.

 

 

In the early hours, Lestrade and Anderson half-carried Sherlock up the stairs to 221b, but not before Lestrade emailed all the incriminating photos from Watson's phone to his own, then deleted the sent emails. He debated slipping Watson's phone into Sherlock's pocket, but in the end, just left it on the table.

Next morning, Lestrade picked his phone up to check for messages. There was one from John Watson:

***Don't remember a thing about last night after you sprung me from the nick. Must have been a great night, the pictures are brilliant. Pity I didn't manage to get a selfie, though. How much did I have to drink?***

Lestrade chuckled a little guiltily, then rolled on his back to be confronted by a pink balloon floating above his head, still attached to Dimmock.

Yeah. It had been a great night.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Let's write Sherlock, challenge 14


End file.
